


Somnolence

by DisorientedOwl



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Empath, F/F, Non-Graphic Violence, Sapphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-03-11 17:36:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13529238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisorientedOwl/pseuds/DisorientedOwl
Summary: Windblade is certain Starscream is behind the rising star of Cybertron. But she finds more than just emotion tangling in the web of the idol.Original Summary:"Windblade is the City-speaker. She puts duty and truth first above all else. Her fame is well-earned and deserved. But when a cold-constructed bot of questionable origin heals the wounds of Cybertron far quicker than she ever could, the cityspeaker realizes; she might not be particularly religious but she was imbued with the mindset of the kind. Now, Windblade must get over herself in order to fix what she once believed was irreparable."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I deleted this fic because people were assholes about it, but now that people are being assholes to the person who supported me I have reason to believe that maybe, just maybe, I want to piss them off.

     She was garish and loud.  
  
     Pink was the worst color of all, pink was the color of spilled energon and pink was the color of war. Windblade hated pink.   
  
     Yet, Electraceae was amazingly popular despite being a lovely tone of pink and lavender. At first, people talked in soft whispers about her, as if she was some kind of secret hidden from the world. There were no posters then, no advertisements in the streets. The excited, hushed tones would ask if they had experienced her. They would pretend to be shocked at any of her publicized deeds; which ranged from public displays of affection to ostentatious parties. Some talked about her in harsh whispers of jealousy spitting out foul curses about her 'wasteful behavior' and that she was 'nothing but a pleasurebot'. However, the more and more people that sated their morbid curiosity of what the indulgent bot could do for them, the more her popularity rose.  
  
      One would see vid's or holo's of her plastered in the streets, encouraging anything from preventing litter to taking care to energize regularly. Yet, she never touched political subjects or reporting suspicious activity. Windblade knew her influence was not political; Starscream wouldn't stop crowing if that was the case. But it was strange to see a bright and cheery visor and smile staring out from the streets, her pink color shaded with blue to calm viewers. She kept her alien grounded alt-form, which seemed to accent her features more. The most noticeable aspect the curvy Autobot possessed were decals. They were simple outlines of organic flowers tattooed on her form sliding up her left ped, around her waist plating.  
  
     But what piqued Windblade's interest was a rumor that turned out to be true.  
  
     Electraceae never saw war because she was cold-constructed shortly before the war ended. She did not know anything about Cybertron before being shuttled here with a band of survivors. Electraceae was new and soft and never saw the cold hard edge of war. Which meant no matter how bright her spark shone, it was not by Primus' servos that she came to be. There was a good chance, although not a spark wished to admit it, that she really was designed for pleasure. But whatever happened between the time of her construction and the time she returned to Cybertron was shrouded in mystery. Behind that visor and between those pointed audial fins and winged helm lay secrets no one would know. This led many to believe that she truly was constructed for the sole purpose of bringing Cybertronians pleasure.   
  
     Windblade was certain the gossip meant to distract citizens from the cold harsh truth of their surroundings. After all that happened, it was odd that citizens so readily flocked to an idol rather than hold accountable those who brought ruin with them. 

  
    It angered her. There were far more pressing things in the world than what this strange Autobot was doing on a daily basis. It reminded her so thoroughly of Caminus, how they worshiped Primus and his Primes. But this was no descendant of Cybertron. It was a deceiver.  
  
     There was no reason any citizen should be as cheery and optimistic as this brightly toned intruder. More devious was her ability to seemingly enchant the masses. It must be a ruse. Especially given her shady birthright. So, Windblade began to detest the visage she now saw wherever she went.  
  
     Windblade knew exactly who to blame. Yet, there was no way to bring it up without raising suspicion. Starscream calmed since the Titan incident. He almost took his duties at due diligence without much prodding or posturing. Windblade would almost say he reformed if he didn't constantly catch her off guard with some twisted act of regency. It left Windblade wired for treachery. But Windblade waited and watched Starscream until the time was right to probe him for information.   
  
     The opportunity presented itself at the hands of a courier bringing in a package. Starscream looked immensely uncomfortable, shifting in his chair as he greeted the courier.  
  
     "Hello, sir. We must apologize it isn't the right color," the courier began as he handed over the cylinder.  
  
     "Thank you," Starscream didn't look very grateful, "That will be all."  
  
    Windblade waited until the courier closed the door behind him before casually speaking, "Highly irregular for you to receive something from off-planet."  
  
    "It's a gift," Starscream's faceplate softened and Windblade held a mix of surprise and anger at the unhappy look that found its way there.  
  
     Windblade saw Starscream scared, mischievously happy and an assortment of contemptible. But the expression that lingered wistfully on his faceplate now was so unlike him that Windblade had to look away.  
  
    "A gift for yourself," She asked bitterly.  
  
    Starscream frowned, his hardened look returning, "I don't see how it is any of your concern, however, this is a return gift."  
  
     Windblade smiled, trying to seem good-natured and joking, "Someone gave you a gift?"  
  
      Starscream appraised her with keen red optics before sitting up, pushing his duty aside, "I'm surprised, city-speaker, that you are not aware. With how intimate your knowledge is of Metroplex I was certain he and you would have picked up her frequencies."  
  
    Starscream twisted the top of the container and proffered its secrets to his City-Speaker.   
  
     Windblade didn't know quite what she was expecting but a glowing purple flower was not it. Starscream quickly pulled it away and sealed it again, "They lose their color quickly so it's best to keep them closed."  
  
     "I didn't know you had a significant-"  
  
     Starscream waved his servo, "Nothing like that, Windblade. I'm sure you've visited Electraceae before. She merely allowed me a private session. Flowers around here aren't exactly pleasant so I had them search for a fitting substitute. She loves those organic ones."  
  
    "Electraceae?" Windblade kept her voice flat and even, "Is she one of your minions?"  
  
     Starscream looked confused more than anything, then his optics widened and a smile played on his lips, "I wonder. Is that what you believe?"  
  
     She knew better than to play into his servos, "I don't see why not. Her fame was rather sudden. She's too perfect and I can't understand how so many people enjoy the alien."  
  
    "You've never seen her, have you?"  
  
    "I see her everywhere I go," Windblade pointed out, "She litters the streets."  
  
    Starscream got a faraway look before snapping back into the conversation with a smile, "I see."  
  
     A dangerous silence fell between them. Windblade felt as if she was missing some vital piece of information. As if there was something more to this bot than her frame and her perchance for instilling optimism.   
  
     "Well, I could tell you much of what that alien has done," Starscream rolled back his shoulder plating before whisking a small, glittery datascript from seemingly nowhere. "But I feel it is in your best interest to see her."  
  
     "See her?"  
  
     "Oh yes, she puts on a show every night at least three or four times a night," Starscream handed over the glittering ticket, "It's rather difficult to see her. There are others in the show business as well but she's most popular. That's why you need this."  
  
     Windblade examined the strange thing, "What is it?"  
  
     "It's a VIP pass. You can stay there all night if you wish. If anything you'll get free engex," Starscream's optics flashed brightly. He wasn't good at hiding his intention to Windblade, but something nagged at her that Starscream knew something she didn't, "If you don't want it-"  
  
     "I want it," Windblade hid the ticket in her servo.   
  
     If there was anything Windblade didn't like it was being kept in the dark. If going to this strange grounder's risque performance could help her understand Starscream's plan, she was determined to see it through. 


	2. Chapter 2

     Windblade transformed and touched down a ways from the crowd in front of  _The Wing and Wheel_. 

     She didn't really want to mingle with the large group of citizens.  _The Wing and Wheel_  wasn't really her scene: a lot of loud noise and dancing, no chance for decent heartfelt conversation and no bartender to really get chummy with. Just grinding gears and condensation from others getting on your metal. Windblade would rather be underground in the Camien ductlines than mesh into the throng of bodies inside those doors.

     A small chirp drew the aerial's attention to her frame. The ticket activated with her close proximity to the building, probably a radio frequency identification card. When she pulled it out she was surprised to see the glittery surface changed to provide her with a map.

     With narrowed optics she scanned the surface. This particular map was leading her away from the entrance full of the masses and away from any safety they provided.

     Windblade wasn't stupid enough to walk in blind, she did research to know the procedure. One had to only travel through the crowd, Electraceae would be there and would do any number of illicit things. From what people would brag about in hidden voices, she was nothing more than a pleasure bot, selling herself for attention. 

     It really shouldn't matter so much, it wasn't as if she was Cybertronian or even a Camien. Windblade wondered if she even had a spark. Screw it, she probably didn't have half the processing power of a normal bot. She was just a vapid, desperate bot and people would get bored of her as they always did. Then they could get to work on fixing  _real_  problems.

     Windblade let the map guide her to a side door. You could still hear the music in a low frequency vibration. A large Decepticon stood in front of it, servos crossed, but once he saw her strangely took a knee.

     "Codepass?" He grumbled out, looking her optic to optic. 

     Windblade handed over the ticket and the Decepticon looked it over, "You aren't Starscream."

    "I am not," Windblade responded truthfully. 

     This seemed to satisfy the bouncer who opened the door to let her into a cool dark passageway. Windblade remained cautious and alert even in the comforting cool interior. The steady thrum of noise slowly shifted around her, still muted mostly by the short walls.

     "This way."

     The proclamation made her jump and Windblade was equally surprised to see a mini-con patiently looking up at her.

     "I am sorry," Windblade admitted lowly, "I think I'm in the wrong place."

     "It's your first time?"

    "Yes," Windblade didn't want to admit the fact.

     "You're in the right place. The VIP experience is a little different."

     The mini-con wheeled away and Windblade stepped to follow him thinking to herself,  _Ah yes, the experience. As if this place has any kind of class._

     She was led through the corridor until the mini-con remotely opened a door and ushered her into a much quieter room.

     The pulse of the nightclub was nothing now. The walls were strategically lined with a soft fabric, expensive in this day, that muffled the sound further. The ceiling was a deep dark nightblue, almost black, with hanging pinpoints of light that served to mimic stars.

      "Sit here please," the mini-con pointed at a bench for Windblade to sit on. Once she took her seat she was offered a trumpet flute of startlingly clear engex. 

     "I'm sorry, I didn't order this."

    "It's complementary for our treasured guests," the mini-con spoke low, "If it is not to your satisfaction I can provide an alternative from the bar."

     "What is it?"

     "It is triple-distillated engex with opening notes of biofuel with a cooling finish."

      _How pretentious._  Windblade thought, what happened to just good old engex? But aloud she only murmured her thanks. 

     "You're very welcome," the mini-con responded. Windblade was starting to doubt this little one's intentions, "May I please see your pass?"

     Windblade handed over the pass again and the minicon examined it, "You are not Starscream."

     "I am not."

     "Why do you have his card?"

     "He gave it to me. Does he visit here often?"

     "No, however he is a treasured guest of the lady. She will be very disappointed."

     There was no possible way that Starscream would have a lover, especially since this one was so below him. He was obsessed with turning himself into a Forged. Apparently he never visited her, which seemed to contradict what he said earlier. There had to be something going on.

      "Not to say she won't be excited to see you," the mini-con continued, "What is your designation?"

     "Windblade."

     "The City-Speaker?"

     Windblade nodded.

     "I will let her know, please press the button on the wall if you need me."

     With that, the mini-con left her to explore the small room. The mood lighting was certainly better than anything on the outside of the building, each small light mimicking a star and then a few soft orbs spattered in between. It would probably be the only thing she enjoyed from this wreckage of a show. The room the door two walls, and a wall that was more like a window to look onto a stage of sorts. Windblade couldn't imagine what kind of show Electraceae would put on. When it came to flexibility, any bot with a ball joint could contort their frames into sensual poses. Dancing really wasn't all too impressive as Cybertronian's music innovation was severely lacking. Nautica was the best dancer around and probably better than anything this frame had to offer. Plus the stage was far too small for anything theatrical. 

     Absentmindedly, Windblade took a sip of the drink. She hadn't meant to drink it, but now the unexpected flavors; a sweetness shortly followed by an acidic bitterness, made her regret tasting it. 

     The fuel was good. Granted it wasn't as strong as Blurr's stuff, but the light flavor had her craving more of it so she finished the flute, knocking it back to drain the glass. 

     Windblade wondered how many others sat in a room similar to this, looking at the focus of the stage. The whole thing seemed intimate and secluded. It contrasted the reports online. 

      The whoosh of the door came from behind her and the mini-con came to retrieve the flute, "Was the drink to your satisfaction?"

     "Yes, may I please have another?"

     The mini-con nodded, "Of course you may, however I would like you to know this establishment has a two drink limit on whichever drink you decide and it is strictly enforced."

     Windblade thought it odd policy for a bar which made its chanix off of those who wanted to drown their reality in this glitzy fiction. Seemed like a poor enough business model to only last a few more cycles which was perfectly fine by her. Fascinations faded, just like this fad would eventually. 

     The mini-con returned with the engex rather quickly, "Here we are, Windblade. I also must apologize for the delay. There was an emergency in the dance floor."

     "What kind of emergency?"

     The mini-con hesitated before admitting, "A patron became adamant that she be seen, in order to see a loved one again."

     "What happened to the loved one?"

     "I did not ask, my lady," the mini-con bowed his helm, "but I know they are offline."

      "How could Electraceae possibly revive the dead?"

      The mini-con's optic ridges furrowed and he looked confused and startled by her comment, "Have you never attended  _The Wing and Wheel_  before?"

      "No," Windblade raised her helm, determined to be proud of it, "I have not. I only came here tonight to investigate."

      The mini-con nodded, as if hearing that excuse for the millionth time that night, "You do understand the nature of the experience, correct?"

      "She fulfills fantasies."

      "Dreams," the mini-con corrected, "She fulfills dreams, my lady. I do not wish to impede your investigation. However, in that same vein I do not wish to help."

      Windblade appreciated the stark honesty but unexpectedly felt bitter at the remark. It was an injustice to believe anyone who wasn't helping her was against her and she ratcheted the emotion away. The mini-con handed her back the ticket and left. 

      Already dim lights dimmed and blinked back on, signalling the start. The mini-con bowed his helm again and turned away, "If you fully wish to enjoy the experience, you should allow your em field a healthy radius."

     Before the mini-con closed the door, Windblade could  _feel_  them. Now that their em fields were unfurled, pulsing out excitement and a voracious multitude of underlying emotions that threatened to drown even her own abilities. Windblade was quick to pull up her usual firewalls, muting the external noise from the patrons of the sick little show they were about to watch. 

     Windblade sipped from the flute of fluid before leaning forward, anticipating the arrival of this idol. 

     She burst through the curtains at the edge of the room. Unlike her pictures on the streets, each one of her flowered decals were filled with a glimmering sheen of silver which made her dazzling in the soft light of the room. A smile tore across her faceplate as if the silent room erupted in applause. It was an absolute farce.

      "Hello all my beautiful friends. It's a full room tonight," he blue visor flashed and her audial fins moved up with the thrust of her servo in the air. The voice came from a comm link embedded into the room.

      "I'm sorry for the delay my pretty pets, but you know a gem like me must feel her best for her treasured guests." Electraceae had a high-pitched, annoying voice almost as if it was affected by something. It squeaked out of her and sounded so unneeded and happy. Windblade should have brought someone along with her so they could make fun of the mess of a bot in front of them.

     "I see some old friends," she began to stalk around the outside of the stage, practically skipping as she traipsed along to show herself off to everyone, "And some new friends."

     Surprisingly, Electraceae paused in front of her booth and Windblade had to wonder if she could see in. Visors were impossible to read, you couldn't see what they were staring at or in this case  _in_.

      "And some guarded friends," Electraceae gave a small sad smile and Windblade felt something akin to a pressure seize her. It was uncomfortable and unexplained.

     The garish sparkling pink bot finally turned her back on the audience to step up three steps to the stage twirling back around to face everyone. She raised both arms and then her frame began adjusting. Panel by panel she shifted and stretched each joint and drew her arms to the side and then back. Sensual, but rather innocent when it came to pleasurable standards.

      "What dream will we believe in today?"

     Windblade narrowed her optics, it sounded completely illogical. What did she mean by dreams? Shouldn't she be talking about fantasies? Did she sincerely able to help people achieve their ambitions by swinging her hips around?

     But the grounder didn't swing her hips at all. She stood in the middle of the room and stretched her neckcabling out before her audial fins flared and became wing-like. Her visor dimmed and then brightened as she seemed to listen to something that wasn't there.

     She stood there for what seemed like forever.  Occasionally a piece of her armor would flare up. 

     It was surprisingly boring. Wasn't there supposed to be more to all of this? Windblade was expecting illicit orgies and piles of the pink Autobot's lovers as she giggled from on top of them. Not staring at a glittering statue. 

     Electraceae reached out her servos, as if receiving something from the stars, "I believe I've found one suitable. Remember, you don't have to leave right away. Whichever pulse you receive last will remain."

      Windblade again felt that oppressive rush ripple through her, it was nauseating. Perhaps, a side effect of the strange engex. Windblade set it down and wondered if it was poisoned. 

     "Thank you so much for coming in tonight."

     Windblade whipped back up to see the entertainer wave good bye. That was it? A VIP experience was her flouncing into the room saying hello and then promptly leaving?

      _What a waste of my time._

     Windblade stood up and turned to leave, practically stomping through the doorframe. This is what made people stark raving mad about this idol? Anyone could talk in a sweet sing-song high voice and be  _nice_. You didn't even hear the purr of her engine and she didn't even do anything fancy. Anyone could enjoy the view of her frame without paying a sizable amount of credits to be thrown into a cramped room to view it. It meant everything she'd researched was a lie and a waste of her time. Windblade couldn't wait to get home and get some rest and possibly recharge away the 'experience'.  

     No wonder Starscream so easily manipulated the populace. If this was his master plan to regain total and complete control over the citizens, what exactly could Windblade do? Get a bunch of femmes together and create a trine of strippers? What kind of half-cracked plan was this? Windblade felt guilty for all femme-kind to be represented in such an odd manner. It played in to such old stereotypes. How could anyone see that as empowering or sexy? It was an absolute joke. 

     Windblade couldn't know what was waiting for her at home. Or even to guess that, what lurked in the dark ebbs of magnetic flow in that room managed to follow her even to the gentle expand of her own processor.


End file.
